


Camping Trip

by Miss_L



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, And lots of tears, Angst, Basically happy sexy times, Fluff, Hallucinations, M/M, Masturbation, Smut, Then some unhappy times, yeah...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 9,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_L/pseuds/Miss_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal have to accompany the FBI on a case and are stuck in the same hotel room - the usual stuff ensues, with a little twist in its tail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brain fried tonight through misuse, through misuse, through misuse  
> You can't avoid static abuse, abuse, abuse 
> 
> Without these pills you're let loose, you're let loose, you're let loose  
> Take off, get out, no excuse, no excuse, no excuse 
> 
> Confused, mind bruised, it seeps out, it seeps out, it seeps out  
> Face down, home town looks so grey, looks so grey, looks so grey 
> 
> Convexed you bend, twist and shout, twist and shout, twist and shout  
> Stand up brush off get moving, get moving, get moving
> 
> Face down, home town, face down, home town,  
> Face down, home town, it looks so grey
> 
>  
> 
> What's that coming over the hill;  
>  **Is it a monster? Is it a monster?**
> 
>  
> 
>  _Monster_ – The Automatics

The trip had not been Will’s idea, and it was definitely not his fault that the only hotel in the vicinity of the crime scene had been booked so full, there was only one twin room available. Still, he kept apologizing to Hannibal for the inconvenience until the prim psychiatrist put his toiletries on the sink in their tiny bathroom. Ironically, that had been a better argument than telling Will that it was quite fine, especially considering that the rest of the investigative team, Jack included, would be camping out in the woods for the foreseeable future. _How curious._

“The long day is taking its toll, and I would like to go to bed. Is that alright with you, Will?” He hated admitting to human weaknesses, but a pounding headache was steadily building behind Hannibal’s eyeballs, having been around chemicals in their field-lab all day, and he could hardly stand upright because of it. Will nodded and smiled shyly.

“You will feel better tomorrow, Doctor Lecter.” 

\---

He had been right for the first half of the day. By the time the sun started setting behind the hills, the entire party could hardly talk with fatigue – this was no longer a hunting and killing ground, this was a massacre-field, parts of different bodies spread everywhere in such a fashion that processing them not only took an extremely long time, but also required constant legwork. Even the consultants had been running around all day in the scorching sun, Doctor Lecter cursing his suits for the first time ever, finally deigning to strip down to his vest, then shirtsleeves, no matter how much it pained him to do so outside. Will’s T-shirt had been clinging to his body for the better part of the day, dark with sweat, bangs hanging sadly around his face like forgotten Christmas decorations. 

Needless to say, both men were relieved to return to their room. While Will was calling home to check up on Alana who was looking after his dogs, Hannibal had a quick shower. By the time Will had finished doing the same, Doctor Lecter was already fast asleep, face drawn and body completely motionless underneath the thin sheets.


	2. Chapter 2

A hand was shaking Will’s shoulder, demanding attention and wakefulness. He opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. Surely, he had set his alarm? What time was it? Looking up at the owner of the hand, Will was surprised to find there wasn't one. Where the wrist ended, an arterial spray of blood began, pulsing steadily against the walls and ceiling. Will shied away in shock, but the severed limb held on to him with a grip resembling rigor mortis. When Will brought up his other arm to try and pry it off, the fingers finally released their grip, latching onto his face, pushing painfully against his eyeballs and snaking into his mouth. He couldn't see, couldn't scream, the digits extending themselves unnaturally into his throat, down his esophagus, choking him...

Will woke up with a muffled scream. Thrashing around in his dream, he had pushed his pillow against the wall and his face flush against it. His sheets and scarce clothing were soaking. He got up to get one of the spare towels he had brought with him from his duffel bag, noting with some relief that his struggle hadn't woken up his roommate. Doctor Lecter had turned in his sleep, but still looked quite dead to the world. 

\---

“Will.” This time, it was Hannibal’s voice that woke him up. He jumped up on the bed, checking the room for stray limbs. Hannibal lifted his hands appeasingly.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Will. There seems to have been an electrical surge during the night, so your alarm clock no longer works.” Will blinked at the man several times before the meaning of the words penetrated his sleepy brain. He rubbed his eyes, then smiled adorably – or so Hannibal thought. 

“A full suit again, Doctor?” 

For once, Hannibal allowed the criticism on his wardrobe and gestured outside. Heavy grey clouds covered most of the sky. “It’s going to rain, so with a little bit of luck, I won’t asphyxiate today. Besides,” he added cockily, “I’m not wearing a vest.”

“Ooooh, well, if _that_ is the case...” Will drawled, flopped back on the bed and pulled his sheets over his head. Doctor Lecter tugged them away again.

“No no, William, it’s time to get up.” He noticed the towel. “Did you have a nightmare again last night?” Will nodded sheepishly, then looked away and got up. Hannibal didn't pry.


	3. Chapter 3

The day had indeed been cooler and so much less strenuous that the entire team came back to the hotel for a drink. It was a friendly and cozy affair, the initial horror a nasty crime scene always provoked wearing off a little. Having spent most of the day looking at secondary evidence and interviewing hotel staff, guests, and few residents of the hills, Will didn't have any nightmares this time. In fact, his sleep had been quite restful. Until Hannibal woke him up. 

The psychiatrist looked undone and quite beside himself as he took off his dressing gown and draped it gently around Will’s shoulders. Squinting against sunlight and noticing a strange prickling in his feet, as well as some muscle ache in his legs, he finally caught up to the reason of Hannibal’s worry – he was standing in the hotel’s back yard in his T-shirt and boxer briefs, bare feet sprinkled with morning dew and mowed grass, people looking out of the windows to see what was going on. Doctor Lecter led him gently inside.

“It’s good that it’s warm at night here,” the good doctor mumbled as they walked, his silk pajamas flopping softly against his legs. Will shuddered, then smirked.

“Well, at least I won’t need morning exercise.” Hannibal huffed.

“I’m sorry I haven’t kept an eye on you, William.” He cut off Will’s protests. “No, this is quite my fault. I know you tend to sleepwalk, and I should have been prepared. This won’t happen again as long as we’re here, I promise.” Will let the man look after him a little – if the doctor insisted on giving some tender loving care, who was he to complain?

\---

After having rested a little, Will went back to work. He was incredibly bored, alone in the room, and his mind did what it always did without outside stimulation – conjure images of past gruels. Watching Hobbs’ severed head leave a bloody smear on the ceiling was the last straw.

Beverly Katz called his name, making Hannibal look around at his patient – literally this time – and walk up to him, no doubt to give him a scolding. 

“William, you should be in bed.” Yep. He smiled at the psychiatrist and shook his head.

“I’m fine. And bored.” Hannibal didn't look convinced. “And Hobbs paid me a visit. Well, his head.” Hannibal dropped the matter and led him to a new piece of evidence a search team had uncovered.


	4. Chapter 4

The door bolted and the half-open window framed with things that would produce a maximum of noise when accidentally dropped, Hannibal checked Will’s pulse and touched his forehead. Will found the fussing equal parts adorable and annoying, but overall, it felt pretty good to be looked after.

When Hannibal had finally installed himself in bed and turned off the light, he only pretended to go to sleep. Instead, he listened to Will’s breathing and inhaled the man’s scent that had permeated the entire room. So far, he had been able to keep him from using that atrocious aftershave. He would like to pretend that he had achieved that goal with some clever scheme, but the truth was: he had hidden the bottle. Will had been too preoccupied with the case to notice – or perhaps he didn't care – so he had been going about smelling of Will and deodorant, instead of something that made the little hairs at the back of Hannibal’s neck stand on end. 

He heard Will’s breath deepen, like he had gone to sleep, but not quite. _Maybe a mental exercise,_ Hannibal pondered. He had suggested a few relaxation techniques to help with the dreams and hallucinations. Most of those exercises involved going to a happy place, and he wondered what Will’s happy place was. Probably something with dogs. And sea. Hannibal tried to imagine what “happy” felt like. He knew sated. He knew satisfied. Even, occasionally, content or joyous. But really blissfully happy? No, he didn't think he’d ever felt that. Maybe when he was a child, but he didn't like to dwell on those memories.

Will sighed, then stirred. His breath quickened again, and his scent changed. It was... hotter somehow. Sweeter, too, but with a tangy edge. Waves of actual heat reached Hannibal and Will’s breath hitched. Doctor Lecter’s eyes flew open and his right eyelid twitched. Will had been waiting to make sure he was asleep before... Oh dear. How inconvenient. He should make a noise, stop what William was doing to spare him possible embarrassment, but he found himself unwilling and unable to interrupt the moment. So he lay there, trying to keep his own breathing level as the pheromones in the air tickled his nostrils. He closed his eyes, following Will’s every movement in his mind’s eye, as surely as if he was watching. 

Palming himself through the soft fabric of his boxers. Breath quickening a little, hitching as his fingers brushed the tip of his cock – probably, no, definitely staining the front of his shorts with bitter-smelling pre-come already. Halting a little, probably conjuring images in his mind – Hannibal caught himself hoping they were not of Ala... anyone he knew, because... Well, that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it? He would die before admitting that Will thinking of somebody else in his presence made him jealous. (In)appropriate memories retrieved, the young man’s hand moved again, forearm scraping softly against the sheets still covering him. Modest, even when horny. 

This time, however, his elegant digits – Hannibal remembered how fine they had felt on his own skin– snaked inside his shorts, taking a firm grip of his cock – again, Hannibal remembered, this time Will’s sleepwalking accident. A whiff of musk reached Doctor Lecter’s nostrils, making him gulp almost audibly. He felt the beginnings of an erection and cursed his body, his too-sensitive olfactory system and that _idiot boy_ for having to do this in a shared room. In short, he hated that he enjoyed Will’s base human action so much, he was almost choking on his own saliva. 

Will quickened his strokes, sending another wave of scent and heat Hannibal’s way. The younger man was biting the sheet now to keep from vocalizing, and the doctor followed his example. He gave up trying to keep his breathing level – he doubted Will would hear it in his state anyway – and enjoyed the sensory overload he got from the other side of the room. It was over as quickly as it had started: the bed creaked as Will shifted his weight to his shoulders and feet to arch his back, a tantalizingly long silent moment and a not-so-quiet flop back onto the bed. Panting softly, Will wiped his hand off – whether on his shorts or the sheets, Hannibal wasn't sure – and turned to his side. 

When Will’s breathing indicated that he had finally gone to sleep, Hannibal dared finally move, friction of pajama bottoms and sheets too much on his erect cock as he turned towards the wall and grabbed the pillow with his left hand. With his right, he palmed his cock through his pants, remembering Will’s fingers, the delicious noises he had made just now, the accidental sights that could not have been prevented when two people shared a room and a bathroom for a few days. Will’s warm voice whispering in his ear, the smell and feel of his soft curls... Knowing that the object – and instigator – of his fantasy was sleeping no more than a yard away sent him right over the edge, biting his pillow to stop from moaning, steady stream of semen pumping against his tented bottoms. Hannibal’s hips buckled helplessly as all tension left his gut in a couple of aftershocks; he finally relaxed and breathed out slowly, sinking into a deep sleep almost immediately. The realization that this was not a good thing to prevent Will from sleepwalking wouldn't hit him until the morning.

Will’s sated slumber was interrupted by a soft thump and he heard his roommate exhale blissfully, just a wisp of a noise, but enough to understand its meaning. _Oh..._ Well, who knew that prim and proper psychiatrists did _that. I just hope I didn't wake him up,_ Will thought with a smile as he fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to [Wendi-goh](wendi-goh.tumblr.com) for the last paragraph-suggestion. Love you, babes! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Jack had been nagging and pushing him since day one, as was his habit. No matter how many times Will told him that he couldn't see clearly yet, that there wasn't enough evidence for him to understand. Or rather, too much – the picture blurred and distorted in his mind’s eye. He needed more to work with. He had already suggested more places to dig, more signs to look out for, and it had paid off – as always – but Jack wanted more and quickly. Will stalked away rather than have a full-blown shouting match with his friend and boss, and sat fuming in his room for the remainder of the afternoon. Just when he thought that he had calmed down, Hannibal came back.

“William, I've been looking all over for you,” the doctor said in good humor, and that finally ignited the fuse. Will’s extremely bad mood earned Hannibal an hour’s lecture about “real friends” and “being used by annoying bastards”. Doctor Lecter was sitting on his bed for the duration of the rant, watching his friend pace as he talked, never interrupting. Sometimes his eyes would mat, as if a nictitating membrane was pulled over them temporarily. Will used to think that this meant Hannibal wasn't listening anymore, and stop talking, but afterwards, the psychiatrist could recite everything that’s been said, so now he just kept talking; more to himself than the good doctor anyway. When he had finished, Doctor Lecter finally stirred.

“Feeling better?” he asked mildly. Will’s agitated shoulders deflated and he sunk back into his usual slightly stooped posture.

“Yeah, much better. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Hannibal flashed Will one of his Mona Lisa-smiles and went to the bathroom in as quick a pace as could still be called “dignified”.

When he came out again, Will was leaning out of the window, tight jeans accentuating his perfect round arse, making Hannibal go back into the bathroom to confirm that, indeed, he was blushing. Well. This was certainly new.

\---

Will was quite proud of himself for managing to spend the evening with Jack and his team and not explode – the rant had helped – and his spirits had definitely gone up. When he swiped his card and entered their room, Hannibal was lying on the bed in full suit on his side, one hand supporting his head, reading a book. He didn't look up when the other man came in, nor did he give any indication of even being aware of anybody else’s presence. Hannibal was always very careful with his clothing, and usually took his jacket and vest off once in the room, but not tonight. Will could imagine it right now. Tonight, he sat on his bed and opened a book, probably – no, definitely (Will’s imagination switched to Doctor Lecter’s point of view for the moment) – to leaf through it, but then he started reading. He had become so transfixed with it, that he only remembered to take off his shoes before he flopped on the bed – yes, flopped! – and buried himself in the volume.

Will desperately wanted to know what book could captivate Doctor Lecter so much – _does he read people like he reads books? And if so, would I be as interesting as this one?_ – but he dared not interrupt. He barely breathed as he sat on his own bed and stilled. _I want to tear that suit off with my teeth_ was a strange thought that suddenly appeared in his head. Maybe it wasn't _his_ thought. Had he outstayed his welcome in Hannibal’s head? Or maybe it _had_ been his thought after all... The psychiatrist still hadn't moved, so he stopped staring and spread out gory pictures of the crime scene – scenes? – on his own bed, a steady headache burning behind his eyeballs as the pictures started blurring together again.

“Have you considered religious mania?” Hannibal was standing over him now, in shirtsleeves, his book perched respectfully on the nightstand. Will sighed.

“Not enough reverence, and the subjugation is all but gentle.” 

“Not even with him or a vengeful God in the lead?” Hannibal swept some pictures to the side and sat behind Will, peeking over his shoulder. The younger man’s previous thought occurred to him again. Suddenly, the room was very hot.

“It’s... savage. Like a wounded animal, tearing everything in his sight apart. Literally.” Will shuddered, remembering his own nightmare. Hannibal was still behind him, but his breathing was different. Will smirked tiredly. “Are you smelling me _again,_ Doctor?” Hannibal shifted, caught.

“Forgive me, Will, it’s a very bad habit I just can’t seem to get rid of.” He stood up again and walked about uncertainly, cheeks just a tad pinker than usual. In the end, he tripped over his own suitcase and fled into the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting seriously out of hand xD Oh well ^-^

The night was hot and broody, and even with all windows open – Hannibal made a point out of putting clangy things on the windowsills – Will was starting to swim in his sheets. Doctor Lecter didn't seem perturbed in the least, his hair and face looking impeccable, even in deep sleep. Tossing and turning in his bed didn't seem to help much with the heat, and Will didn't want to wake Hannibal – he had been too much of a nuisance already. He got up quietly, switched the light on in the bathroom and closed the door. Wetting a towel in the sink, he wiped his face, then neck and arms. He took off his T-shirt and put it in the bath – it needed wringing anyway – then wiped the sweat off his chest and back as much as he could. Legs followed when there came a knock on the bathroom door. Without thinking, Will hummed agreement. Hannibal opened it, blinking sleepily against the light. 

“Will, is everything alright? I was worried you’d... Oh.” His eyes adjusted and he realized he was staring at a more-than-usually naked Will Graham cleaning himself. Which was not unusual, of course. He hoped his face and voice were calm as he said: “I’m very sorry, Will, I didn't mean to intrude.”

The younger man looked down at the towel, then back the the closing door, only now catching up on what had happened. The absurdity of the situation made him laugh. The door halted its softly creaking progress.

“Don’t you ever get warm?” Will hadn't realized he had asked the question out loud until Hannibal peeked inside again, head cocked, surprise and curiosity in his eyes. The corners of his sculpted lips quirked upward a little, then pulled into a full-blown smile – a rare sight under those sharp cheekbones.

“I get warm plenty, William, I suppose I’m just lucky not to transpire a lot. Why?” 

Will shrugged, then put the towel around his middle. “Just... wondering. You always look so composed...” _Stupid._ He sounded pathetic even to himself, he could only guess what Doctor Lecter must be thinking of him. The man still surveyed him calmly, however.

“If you wish to take a shower, that is quite alright, I won’t go back to sleep right away now.” It was meant as encouragement, but only reminded of Will waking up his friend again. He looked away and nodded. The door closed fully this time.

\---

Will leaned into the shower stream, closing his eyes and letting the lukewarm water hit his skull. The water stopped suddenly and he looked up. A single drop fell out of the shower head, then nothing. He sighed. Great, he’d only just started cooling off a little. He was contemplating whether he should tell the management or wait until the morning when he heard a noise. It seemed to be coming from the wall. Will put his ear against it to listen. He heard the tide, waves crushing on the beach. Probably the blood rushing in his ears. The wall started shuddering, becoming alive somehow. Before Will could step out of the bathtub, a great rumbling shook the tiles off the wall and split it in two, a rush of blood and guts washing over the man, engulfing him, swallowing him whole.


	7. Chapter 7

Hannibal had rushed over to the bathroom again when he heard a loud thump and sploshing. Will was lying in the tub with his eyes closed, only partly conscious, the water in the tub colouring slightly pink as the shower stream washed away the blood that pulsed softly from his temple. Doctor Lecter shut off the water and switched into surgeon mode, only allowing himself to think once he was satisfied that Will wouldn't hurt himself again.

Agent Graham’s embarrassment knew no bounds when he finally came to. However, all his protests and apologies were cut off easily when Hannibal put his finger to Will’s lips. The younger man tasted copper – no, blood – and ethanol on it. He forgot what he was saying.

“Rest now,” Hannibal whispered whilst taking Will’s pulse. He tucked the young man in – Will noticed that he was still naked, but quite dry now and blushed – and sat on the edge of the bed. After a little while, both their breaths quieted down, and Hannibal started humming. Will was quite certain that the man wasn't aware that he was doing that out loud, so he stayed perfectly still and let the foreign melody envelop him as he sunk into a deep dreamless sleep.

\---

On day four of this seemingly never-ending investigation, even Doctor Lecter started to lose his patience with Jack Crawford. 

“Jack, I’m afraid I cannot tell you anything else until there is more to work with. That is, other than body parts.” Hannibal’s voice was icy calm, but his eyes shot fire.

Jack was impatient as always, and not paying any particular attention to the psychiatrist’s demeanor. “That’s what Will keeps saying, Doctor, I honestly don’t believe it should take this lo...”

Hannibal finally snapped, voice lowered to a hiss. “Maybe it’s time you put more trust in Will Graham, instead of working him into a mental breakdown.” Having said that, he stalked off indignantly, long legs striding purposefully over the grass. Jack was left nailed to the spot, mouth open in surprise, the unpleasant feeling that someone had just walked over his grave sending a shiver down his spine. 

Mind cluttered with pleasant red-and-black images of Jack becoming his next decent meal, Doctor Lecter looked for Will. He found the young man near a recently uncovered grave on the opposite side of the field, between the trees, body motionless and eyes closed. He didn't interrupt, just watched in quiet admiration as Will’s motions started to flow, a graceful animalistic quality to them – so different from his usual square, fumbling movements. His face changed, too. It was more open, more certain now. More... purposeful. Hannibal wasn't quite certain what the real killer looked like, but the part of him that was now driving Will was truly beautiful.

Jack approached through the undergrowth, stepping lightly, keeping quiet for Will and well away from Hannibal. Both men watched their friend perform. What he was doing looked like a dance, but not just some samba. It was a deadly sequence of fluid movements, not unlike capoeira, but less exerting. When he had come back to the spot where he had started out, Will’s eyes flew open, lights of new realizations playing in his bright blue irises as he let out a deep breath through his nose. He found Jack’s location with his eyes, then turned his body towards the man.

“I know who it is.”

Jack frowned in confusion. “The victim?”

“No, Jack,” Will’s frame was already slinking, he looked almost human again. “Not the victim. The murderer. He couldn't help coming back to admire his handy work, maybe even see if he could outsmart the F.B.I. He almost succeeded, too. You’ll find him at the hotel, room 35. Crowley.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Where did he slip up?” Brian nudged Will with his elbow. Now that the murderer had been caught – the man confessed right away, although he seemed to be going for an insanity plea – the mood was almost joyful. Sure, there was still a butt-load of work to be done, but at least the perpetrator had been caught and the murders stopped.

Will winced. He understood the relief everybody was feeling. He, too, was glad that the ordeal was over. However, he hated talking about his process. As ever, it hadn't been anything tangible, nothing he could put his finger on. Hannibal sensed his discomfort and bent over the table towards them.

“A man should keep his professional secrets lest he be out of a job soon, Mr. Zeller,” he said lightly, winking exaggeratedly at the forensic investigator. This made the entire table roar with laughter, except Jack. He still remembered the cold dread that had coursed through his stomach last time he heard the man speak. He made a mental note to apologize later – best to keep Doctor Lecter as a friend.

\---

The evening was quite cool and Hannibal suggested he and Will go for a short stroll around the “block”. They walked in silence, Hannibal trying and failing to find a way to express his thoughts, William just enjoying lungfuls of night air. Finally, Doctor Lecter coughed.

“Your... process...” He felt his companion wince in the half-dark, and hastened to put the man at ease. “I know you’d rather not talk about it, Will, even though I would never judge. But it’s quite fascinating. I admire your ability. And I am sorry it is such a burden to you.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Will said after a while. They rounded the corner and went back inside.


	9. Chapter 9

Will watched Hannibal pack his suitcase – they would be leaving next day, their presence no longer relevant, and Doctor Lecter was obviously one of those people who did everything well in advance. Hannibal, in turn, was watching Will read an article on criminal psychology Ms. Katz had given him that morning – knowing that Agent Graham was one of those people who never did anything in advance, and would be throwing his things haphazard in his duffel bag right before leaving, probably forgetting half of it. He hoped he would remember to give Will back his horrible aftershave, petty theft was not really his style, after all.

To an outsider, this would seem like a friendly, easy setting, but despite the chill outside, the inside of the room felt hot to both men. Hannibal had just decided to go brush his teeth when his route to the bathroom was cut off by Will, nose in his article, blind and deaf to the world around him until he bumped into the doctor. Apologies ensued, “you go first” and “after you”s flying back and forth until they agreed to brush their teeth at the same time. Elbows touching, the men were spying on each other via the mirror, looking away quickly when they felt the other’s gaze upon them. Having rinsed his mouth and washed his face first, Will went back into the room to put on a fresh T-shirt and take off his trousers. Whether he’d not closed the bathroom door accidentally or on purpose, Hannibal didn't know, but the older man felt a sudden urge to have a very cold shower. Which he did presently.

“Doctor Lecter?”

“You can call me Hannibal.” Taken aback by that answer, and startled to find the man’s maroon eyes studying him intensely, Will nodded and tried to remember what he had wanted to ask, chewing the corner of his sheet in contemplation. _Ah yes..._

“The book you were reading the other day, what was it?”

Hannibal smiled and handed him the volume. Huygens. He knew that name. The recognition on Will’s face endeared Doctor Lecter. He got out of his bed and walked over to the younger man. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but being close to Will was essential to him right now. He perched on the edge of the bed and they talked for some time. 

When there were no more words left, Hannibal remembered his manners and got up, feeling the keen loss of the other’s body heat close to him. Will grabbed his hand, then shied away from his questioning gaze, probably just as unsure about how to proceed. Doctor Lecter frowned and cocked his head. Will knew this expression, and couldn't believe the man would actually ask for permission concerning anything. Although this was an unusual situation. Hannibal sunk back on the bed slowly, his dressing gown falling open, pajama shirt hitched up a little to reveal a patch of tanned stomach. Will extended his hand uncertainly, then ran his fingers over the warm skin, slightly rough with age and soft hair. His brows were creased in concentration, and Hannibal found himself watching the young man’s face soundlessly, breathlessly, until the hand exploring his stomach moved too low, making the doctor inhale sharply. Will pulled his hand back, face going crimson.

“I’m s... sorry, I...” Hannibal had to break off this stuttering – he had waited too long already. Planting a gentle, yet firm hand on the back of Will’s neck, he bowed his head until their lips almost touched, leaving the younger man ample room to protest. When none came – only loaded silence, interspersed with shaky breaths – he finally closed the gap. Will’s hot, moist lips met his with surprising vigor, pulling, pushing, licking and exploring. Before long, Hannibal’s dressing gown and shirt had made their way onto the floor, and he was straddling Will’s slim hips, the young man arching his back to help pull off his T-shirt, cocks meeting with an almost painful friction through thin fabrics. Hannibal was kissing and licking down Will’s neck and chest, biting his pale skin softly every now and again, brought almost to a frenzy by the sounds the other man emitted at such caresses.

Neither man remembered when they had gotten completely naked, or how Hannibal was able to get at his hand-cream – the only substitute for lube he could think of, his head almost exploding with lust – but nobody really cared as Doctor Lecter was currently kneeling between Will’s spread legs, holding their leaking cocks firmly in his right hand while tugging softly at Will’s hair with his left, the young man’s elegant fingers digging into his shoulder blades, pulling him nearer until their rib cages were almost accreted. Hannibal had to admit that this was a much better angle as he started stroking their straining members. The heat, the friction, the shallow thrusts Will made into his hand every now and again... It was heaven. No, it was better than heaven, because it was _real_ and _now._

If their neighbours had been kept awake by their guttural moans, they didn't complain – fueling each other’s animalistic utterings was possibly the best game they had ever played. Hannibal started thrusting, too, drawing more and more intricate moans and curses from Will’s lush lips, now red and swollen. He latched onto them again and again, like an insatiable leech, and was met with growing enthusiasm each time, Will’s strong hands pulling, stroking, scratching at his back and buttocks... Hannibal thought that one day, they would truly tear each other apart; for now, he just increased the speed of his strokes and tugs until all he could see behind his eyelids were stars, Will’s scent and noises making it absolutely impossible to think. When he felt his orgasm washing over him, he bit Will hard in the neck, sucking, worrying, teasing until the young man was reduced to a keening wreck, pushing needily against him. _Heaven, indeed..._


	10. Chapter 10

Will woke up slower than usual, reveling in warmth and softness of what appeared to be a living and breathing stove at his side. When he finally opened his eyes, the source of heat turned out to be Doctor Lecter, his therapist, friend and colleague consulting investigator. Will felt his cheeks colour pink as the memory of last night washed over him, filling his gut at once with second-hand pleasure and embarrassment. 

He was glad he’d had the presence of mind to at least clean them both up superficially before they fell asleep, exhausted. Nothing worse than waking up sticky. Hannibal sniffed softly in his sleep, looking absolutely angelic. Will smiled and put his head back on the older man’s chest, enjoying the slight tickle of chest hair against his cheek. He hadn't had time to go back to sleep when Hannibal woke up.

“Well, this was a terrible mistake.” The single sentence drove a cold dagger through Will’s chest. He tensed up, not daring to look up, mind racing as dread filled his stomach. He couldn't help flinching, like a dog awaiting a beating. Seemingly oblivious of Will’s reaction to his thoughtless words, Hannibal stretched as much as the cramped space allowed.

“Next time, we’re only sleeping together in a double bed, William. I’m getting too old to share a single,” the doctor carped good-humouredly and pulled his bed partner closer. Will let out a deep breath and tried to relax, remainders of fear floating around in his head. 

Catching up belatedly, Doctor Lecter kissed the top of the young man’s head and whispered: “I would never consider you a mistake, Will. You should know better by now.” He couldn't see Will’s face, but Hannibal was pretty sure that what he felt against his chest was a big, goofy grin. He smiled, too. _Silly boy._

\---

Hannibal watched Will get dressed after their shower. Openly, now. Possessively. The young man didn't notice, or didn't care – or maybe he enjoyed it, as well, because, surely, it didn't take that long to put on a T-shirt _and I never noticed that his latissimi dorsi were this well-developed and..._ Hannibal finally noted that he had been fastening his sleeve buttons for the past five minutes. Oh, he needed to be careful now... So, so careful. But it was too late.

Will had shot his – lover? – a furtive glance when he put on his jeans, and for a moment, Hannibal's demeanor seemed off. There was something all too familiar about the man he still hardly knew. Hannibal had been watching him – Will didn't mind. In fact, if anything, it was quite a turn-on to be visually devoured like that. But the hunger... The hunger in Doctor Lecter’s eyes wasn't purely sexual or aesthetic. It was feral. Primal. Desperate. He knew that look. And there was nothing gentle or loving about it. Only famished. _Oooooh..._

Strangely, the realization didn't shock him, or make him freeze mid-movement. It just... Clicked in his mind, like the pieces of a puzzle that had been lying next to each other all the time, but he’d only just noticed that they fit. Will zipped his jeans up and tucked his T-shirt in calmly, then faced Hannibal. The older man’s – _no, not a man, a monster,_ Will reminded himself – lips were set grimly. They both knew what was to happen now.


	11. Chapter 11

There was no point in talking. The sooner this was over, the better. Already horror and disgust were intermingling on the young man’s face. It hurt Hannibal to see that look directed at him, he noted in surprise. It was time now. Just as Doctor Lecter was about to act, albeit reluctantly – _overpower Will first, obviously, but what then?_ – his head caught up with him. It was the strangest thing, and left him frozen on the spot as he watched the thought process unfurl. 

He was looking in behind his own eyelids, peering at the door to his mind palace. The door was pushed – no, kicked – open, and he entered. As he walked through the familiar halls, all music came pouring out at once, distorted, blaring at him from the walls until he ran from it, watching the different rooms flake and crumble as he passed. The memories in them were still intact, perfectly preserved like samples in formaldehyde, some of the colour bleached from them with time, but the walls around them were coming down with hellish noise, adding to the terrible cacophony in his head.

As he ran further, the entire building seemed to collapse behind him, mortar and bricks turning to dust, chasing him, threatening to choke with their sheer weight. He ran into the yard – no, not the dead bodies, no, please! He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to go any further, but the palace breaking down was forcing him towards the out-sheds. He had not been here since he killed Grentz. He turned back and saw the rubble bury his family’s corpses. He tried to run back to his mother – no, no, NO!!! _Fire on her dress, but she didn't feel it anymore._ They were all dead now, all dead... He could feel the corpses of his victims under the ground of the yard, but he had no time, no time, he had to run further lest he himself was buried alive by his past.

He stopped at the burned-down hunting lodge. Even the roar of his flattening demise wasn't enough incentive to leave Mischa behind. But Mischa wasn't there anymore, only rubble and caved in stairs. He ran to the little shed the other children had been kept in, but all he found there were clothes, stained with blood and frozen solid to the hay. _No, Mischa! Mischa, where are you?_ He could hear his eight-year-old shout her name, but nobody answered. Mischa had always answered, what was she doing, where was she? He saw a glimmer of a baby’s bath with the little deer’s skull still in it, but both buildings were already being demolished by the last wave of his mind’s plaster rolling over them. Dust stained his clothes, enveloped him. He was twelve years old again, a traumatized mute child with a chain around his neck. Except there was no chain, and no more Mischa, either. No more nightmares, or screaming, or anything. He ran through the trees and came to a little hill. He remembered this hill. A big heap of wildflowers marked something. If only he could remember what it was... But he couldn't, not anymore. 

He ran further through the forest until his feet could move no more. The trees ended and he came to another clearing. Except there was nothing. No grass, no flowers, nobody and nothing discernible. Just a white space and blinding light. He looked back, but there was nothing where he came from, either. More nothing, all around him. He was alone and he was lost, and nobody would ever find him. He fell to his knees, then rolled up on himself and fell onto his side, like a wounded animal feeling its end approach. A hand touched his shoulder, and he felt a warm presence in the nothingness. It made the light a little less hurting to his eyes and the space less vast. He knew it, but like with the grave, he couldn't quite think of what it was.

When Hannibal snapped back to the present, he felt a hand on his shoulder and a familiar scent hit his nostrils. Will. The atrocious aftershave. He had found the bottle, then. Why was he so tall? Hannibal looked up to find that he was sitting on his knees in the middle of the room, tears falling down his cheeks, Will standing in front of him and shaking him awake gently. What had they..? He remembered the near-altercation and wondered briefly why the other man hadn't used his momentarily – or had it been longer? – weakness to attack him, or at least run away... Get Jack, maybe. Maybe he had. He took the hand Will extended to him and stood up, shaky legs forcing him to sit down again on the bed. The younger man handed him a glass of water, then sat beside him. Hannibal stopped wondering why and how. He put the glass on the nightstand and stared in front of him, neither one talking. Then he looked down at his hands, sighed, and put his head on Will’s shoulder – Will let him.

Agent Graham was wondering what had made the predator ready to attack he had seen just five minutes prior turn into a declawed and depressed cat. He had seen the man retreat into himself, a wave of realizations or memories hitting him until he sank on the floor and stayed motionless, tears flowing over his face freely. He hadn't made any noise, but Will could feel Doctor Lecter scream in his chest, as if it had been him having a mental breakdown, not the murderer whose hair he was currently petting. And who had quite definitely been about to kill him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some shameless ripping of (literal?) quotes from _Hannibal Rising_ , so all the credit goes to the amazing Mr. Thomas Harris. All mistakes and misquotations my own.


	12. Chapter 12

"Doctor Lecter..." Hesitant. Tentative.

Hannibal jolted out of his empty trance and looked up at Will. He could still smell faint traces of fear and resentment (bitter, ugly odour) on the man, but Agent Graham kept his hand steady on the psychiatrist's shoulder. He could see his own confused expression on the younger man's face. _Probably too tired to control his natural proclivity to mimic others._ Hannibal briefly wondered how hard it must be for a perfect empath to keep his own identity in place for any period of time. Funny, he never cared about that before... Will spoke again and the older man strained to catch up on the meaning of his words.

"We have to check out in half an hour, Doctor Lecter." Slight distaste in his pronunciation of Hannibal's professional title. He could see the irony, had always found it one of his best private jokes, but right now, the negativity felt raw. He winced a little. Will picked up on it, of course, an instant wave of shame emanating from his body as he let go of Hannibal's shoulder. The doctor got up slowly and went towards his suitcase, briefly wondering where his own shame had gone. He couldn't remember ever having had any.

Will was still sitting on the bed, fists clenching and unclenching on his thighs. Hannibal looked at him questioningly, and the young man cleared his throat awkwardly. He never looked at his former friend. Hannibal felt an unpleasant sucking chill in his stomach. It wasn't fear - he knew fear. And hell, right now, he would prefer fear.

"I should report you to Jack and have you arrested." _Foolish boy, telling me that while we're still alone in the room._ He may be perturbed and confused, but Hannibal's survival instincts and superior physical strength were still quite in place. Maybe even more so, now that his head refused to work properly...

Will must've guessed his thoughts, because he finally looked up at Hannibal, face open - almost challenging. Agent Graham was not a fighter; he wouldn't cling to life with the same desperation Doctor Lecter had developed after a life-time of pure survival. Will Graham didn't have a family of his own - if one were not to count his dogs - nor an extended circle of friends, nor a career to build. The man was a drifter, passing through life as a rare gift to anyone but himself. Hannibal considered the evidence he had planted in Will's house. This young, beautiful, shy boy had _no_ idea what he had gotten himself into.

Will had seen Hannibal's face close, turn into the cold mask of civility he so often wore. Despite his undone hair and puffy red eyes, the man looked terrifying. But right was right, and Doctor Lecter was quite wrong if he thought he could get away with killing so many - Will shuddered to think _how_ many, exactly. He rose.

"I don't want to fight you, Doctor Lecter. But if I have to, I will. I don't want to die, and I'm quite certain neither do you, but if you refuse to co-operate and let the F.B.I. arrest you..." The words scraped their way out of his throat at last, "Only one of us will leave this room alive." Official tone now, trying and failing to hide his nervousness. Hannibal could taste the man's utter terror on his tongue - an exquisite bouquet, heady and strong, quite intoxicating. And still, he was too stunned to move, or ever laugh at such insolence.

"You..." he croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Brave boy." No mockery in his voice, and yet Will's attitude changed in an instant. His eyelids drooped, like those of a great tiger preparing to attack - and _kill_ \- its prey, and his chest-muscles flexed. Hannibal couldn't quite keep his eyes off them, or stop his silent admiration for the rest of the man's lean, wiry musculature. Thought processes were finally snaking their way back into Doctor Lecter's head. He almost hated himself for it, but he couldn't and wouldn't leave a witness, or - worse, much, much worse - let them take him alive. Will meant business and time was of the essence. He would kill the boy, make it look like Agent Graham had gone off the reservation and attacked _him_ first. What feelings would he have to simulate? Shock. Grief. Got it.

For the second time that day, the broken shell of what had, not so very long ago, been Hannibal Lecter, M.D., was preparing to set upon the man who had trusted him implicitly. The man whom Hannibal had come to view as his friend.


	13. Chapter 13

The room was a complete mess. There had clearly been a struggle, but Jack couldn't quite make out what had happened yet. He didn't understand what he saw. Doctor Lecter and Will had seemed to get along very well – Graham certainly benefited from their “talks” and willingly allowed the therapy to continue. Hannibal, on his end, had almost attacked Agent Crawford when he dared speak ill of their friend. Last night, the men had joked and drunk together, and now this; bedside table overturned, sheets on the ground, clothes everywhere, a stray drop of blood here and there – not an amount indicating serious injury, but ideally, blood stays inside the body.

A cry came from the brush at the back of the hotel, right on the edge of the woods, then shots – one, two, three. Then silence. Crawford drew his gun and ran towards the sounds, joined by his forensic team once he was outside. He approached the wood cautiously, gesturing for the rest to fall back as he reached the dense vegetation. He saw a path through the thick undergrowth and followed it, gun deceivingly low in his hands. After about 200 yards, there came a bigger opening in the brush, and he saw a figure on their knees. The sunlight was blocked quite effectively by the summer foliage, and his view was limited. He took the safety off his .38.

“This is the F.B.I. Put your hands in the air an turn arou- Will?” Jack put his gun away and walked towards the confused-looking agent. Then he saw Doctor Lecter on the ground, motionless, Will’s service-gun next to him, and stopped in his tracks.

“He’s dead,” Will whispered hoarsely, quite needlessly. Jack knew a lifeless body when he saw one. Except death was usually ugly and grotesque. Hannibal sprawled out on the forest floor, however, still managed to look elegant. Almost artistic, too, the way his chest wounds bled onto his light grey shirt, creating paisley patterns, enlacing like vines of ivy where they were spreading out. Jack tore his eyes away from the gruesome painting appearing on Hannibal’s chest, and looked up at Will. The man was getting up, and what a sight he was – hands bloody, shirt torn and stained with blood, chest and neck covered in massive bruises, a wound on his temple, jeans ripped by the thorny brush. Jack briefly wondered if his body was used to make the path he had followed. 

Agent Crawford was still slowly processing the stunning visual input when Beverly Katz pushed past him and grabbed Will’s swaying form. She briefly examined him, only found a deep gash between his ribs – no vital organs hit – and finally looked up at his face. She didn't like what she saw; she pulled his head towards her shoulder. Will slumped around the woman, great sobs shaking his whole body, not quite leaving his lips. Jack was rendered speechless. He had seen Agent Graham angry, scared, tired and, once, piss-drunk. But never this. Never like this. The man was soaked in desperation. It was radiating off him like heat from a fire.

Jack’s training finally stuck up his head, and he told Zeller and Price to stop hovering and start processing Doctor Lecter’s body. He let Will and Beverly hug for the time being and looked for a knife. It was under the dead man’s back, so he left it there for the forensics. He wanted to let Will – what, grieve? – but they had to be back at the bureau by nightfall to make sure all the evidence against Crowley got to court as soon as possible. As always, there was no time for emotions. He pulled Will away from Beverly and took him back to the room, shooing everybody out and locking the door. Jack sat on one of the beds, Will sank on the floor with his back to the wall under the window and closed his eyes. _No time for this. Dammit,_ Jack thought as he watched the shuddering man relax a little.

“Will.” The young man’s eyes snapped open, unfocused. “Will, you need to tell me exactly what happened.” Graham looked down at his hands, remembered whose blood was on it. Big tears once again appeared in his eyes, falling treacherously down his cheeks and into his lap. He bowed his head and sighed, elbows on his knees, hands as far away from his face as possible. Jack didn't offer him a napkin.

“Han... Doctor Lecter attacked me. He knocked me out and dragged me into the woods. I... I thought he would finish me, but he didn't. I woke up. We struggled. He knifed me. I shot him.” Will’s voice was flat, almost dead, but his chest expanded with the enormous pain he must be feeling. Jack was afraid he’d start hyperventilating and pass out, but for once, Graham seemed fairly in control of himself.

“Why did he attack you?” Jack had trouble believing any of it, but he’d seen enough liars in the interrogation room to know Will was telling the truth. The young man gave him a curious look.

“Because I’d found out he was the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Agent Crawford froze, then burst out laughing. Ugly, high sound that hurt Will’s ears. He knew it was shock and surprise, rather than an insult, so he waited for the hysteria to pass.

“The Ches... Chesapeake Ripper? Come on, Will, surely, Doctor Lecter is not... was not a killer?” 

Graham’s chest deflated completely, his shoulders slumped and he smirked sadly.

“You might want to examine his cellar before you draw any conclusions about... him.” He winced. Then his face grew serious again. “Also... His freezer. You... ehm... you might want to examine that.” Jack frowned.

“Why? What’s wrong with his freezer?” He turned around in his head all the dinners he’d had at Hannibal’s place. _Son of a bitch._ He blew out through his nose, suddenly a little bit sick in the stomach. “Oh God... He wasn't... He didn't... Did we..?” Will nodded. He’d had some time to process the information, Jack still had to wrap his head around it. The older man felt a sudden anger rising in his chest – that son of a whore had made Bella an accomplice to cannibalism! He was surprised at how little it bothered him that _his_ dinner might have been people, but nobody touched his wife like this. And then there was Miriam Lass... If this was true, he would've loved to have killed Lecter himself. However, he needed to see proof first. And Lecter was already dead anyway.

“Right.” Crawford got up. “I’ll let Beverly process you, then we’re going back to Baltimore.” He looked around him in confusion. “I’m not sure which stuff is yours...”

Will wiped his nose and got up. His blood-mustache looked everything but comical. “My duffel. It’s already packed. I... He... Could you take it?” Jack nodded and seized the bag.

“The officers will take the rest.” And that was that.

An hour later, the sad party of black sedans and jeeps set out for home. The good mood from the evening before had evaporated. Will briefly wondered when his rib cage would explode with the emptiness inside.


	14. Chapter 14

2 a.m. Night in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Will Graham is asleep in his bed. He’s shivering and a sheen of sweat is covering every inch of his body. Will Graham is dreaming.

_He’s dragging a body through the woods. He’s got his arm around the man’s chest – he knows it’s a man, but he can’t see his face. His load is not very heavy, and he is quite strong, so he’s walking swiftly, making sure the arms don’t get scratched by the brush. Finally, he comes to a small opening between the trees. The undergrowth is still very dense, and the treetops above him don’t let almost any light through, but he can see very well in the dark. He’s a hunter, he could find his way in the woods with his eyes closed. But he doesn't close them now, he needs to look after his unconscious baggage. He clears a small space with his feet, then puts the man down slowly. He can finally see his face. It’s the slightly battered face of Will Graham. Of course, how could he have forgotten? His good friend Will…_

_Something moves quietly through the trees to his right, just in the periphery of his view. He knows what it is without seeing it. He ignores the stag – the stag is his ally. He brushes some twigs away from Will’s face, then checks him superficially for broken bones. The young man is stirring. He tried not to harm him – dazzled him with a small tick to the temple, then put his arm around the man’s neck from behind, only applying enough pressure to make him lose consciousness. Easier to get him into the trees that way. He only had to make sure he wasn't spotted by someone in the hotel prematurely – a tiny risk, really. The man on the ground opens his eyes slowly, blinks a few times, then realizes what happened and who is standing next to him. Before he knows what’s going on, Will has grabbed his gun from the waistband of his jeans._ Dammit, should’ve searched him... _Well, too late now._

_He kicks the gun from the young man’s hand and takes out his hunting knife. However, before he can strike, Will has already scrambled to his knees, then his feet, his eyes never leaving the other man. One of them attacks the other and, all of a sudden, his knife is up to its hilt in Graham’s side; both men are looking at it in surprise, then Will jerks away and pulls the blade out. He throws it down somewhere, eyes still trained on his assailant. Then his face changes almost imperceptibly and he ducks into the brush. He sits up on his knees. The attacker approaches him quickly, but it’s too late. There’s a flash of steel. Somebody screams. It could be him. It could be the man shooting him. He doesn't know. Searing pain in his chest. He falls down and everything fades to black infinity._

Will wakes up with a jolt, panting. His eyes are wild and his sheets are soaking wet. He gets a towel and puts it on his bed, then lies down again. He closes his eyes, then opens them again in fear. In the end, he’s too exhausted to fight sleep.

It’s 3.47 a.m. in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Will Graham is dreaming again.


	15. Chapter 15

The past few weeks had been Hell. Everyone had been telling him how sorry they were, how terrible it must've been to have one of his best friends betray him like that, throwing him sympathetic glances... He hated it. Only Beverly hadn't said a word to him since they got back to Baltimore. She didn't ask if he was okay anymore. He didn't really want her to, but considering she had always been the one person who cared about him without expecting anything back – good work, romantic attachment, permission to play with his brains – he missed it a little. 

\---

“Are you sure you want to retire?” Jack examined him over his half-glasses. There was no sympathy in his expression, only inquiry. _Thank God._ Will nodded.

“I’m moving away. To Europe.” He handed in his badge and gun as Jack was re-reading his resignation letter. Crawford looked up at him again.

“Any chance I can ask for your help again, in an emerge...”

“No.” It had come out too harsh, but Jack understood. He nodded in turn, then signed the letter and stamped it with his Big Seal, as it was jokingly called by anyone but him. For the first time ever, Will understood what a heavy burden and great responsibility that seal must be to Jack. And he carried that responsibility in the best way he knew how. Despite himself, Graham almost admired Jack’s leadership skills. But it didn't matter to him anymore. 

He didn't look back when he walked outside.


	16. Chapter 16

Venice. With all the waterways they had in that beautiful city, Will was sure he’d always find work as a diesel mechanic or a wharf worker. Indeed, a week after his arrival, he was already on probation in one of the many small companies where tourists could rent a quiet motor boat. After another two weeks, he had a small attic room to himself, and was the owner’s favorite American – considering the boisterous Italian hated yanks with a passion, Will could be certain about the continuation of his job. He quite liked the people he worked with – they were all very private and left him to his own devices. Sometimes, he agreed to have a few drinks together after work, or a cozy family dinner at one of their houses. It was a peaceful, quiet life.

\---

Will had just bought some good Cantaloupes at the weekly market and was looking for ripe peaches, when a voice behind his right ear made him freeze.

“Still wearing that atrocious aftershave, William?” His heart made a salto inside his chest, but he was careful to keep his expression level as he turned around to look into an altered, but still oh so familiar face.

“I keep getting it for Christmas.” And the smile that response drew from the man opposite him was, indeed, Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who've stuck with me this far - whether you've been around since the start, joined half-way or only just read the story - thank you. Thank you for making my journey fun :D  
> I'm proud to be part of a fandom with such lovely, crazy, brilliant, obsessed, amazing people in it <3  
>  **EDIT:** Dear peeps! I've received questions about a possible sequel coming for this story. Sadly, I am not planning on writing one. But(t)! Every one of you (or all together ;) ) is/are very very welcome to write one of your own :) As long as you link to this story as prequel, please do - I love to read somebody else's take on my things :D  
>  Stay awesome! <3


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